


The Bells Are Gonna Chime

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Las Vegas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 10:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8141228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Clarke should really know better than to try to con a Vegas limo driver out of a free ride. She should have just paid for a taxi and been done with it, but she really thought she could come up with something.
Unfortunately for her, Bellamy Blake isn't having any of it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [museumofflight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/museumofflight/gifts).



> Erin has some great Vegas wedding stories, y'all.

Clarke didn't really think she'd ever know anyone who got married in Vegas, mostly because _married in Vegas_ conjures up all these images of people who are doing it on a whim, drunken mistakes that have to be resolved by court orders. Raven points out there's also a class issue at work, because people in Clarke's social circle just don't get married in Vegas, or anywhere like Vegas, and she admits that's true too. Her understanding of weddings has always involved fancy churches, expensive receptions, and lots of judgmental relatives who still think the food isn't good enough. If destination weddings happened, the destination was somewhere _proper_ , like the Bahamas. Not Vegas.

But when that's where Wells and Raven decide to get married, Clarke is completely in favor. For one thing, she would approve of anywhere they wanted to get married, because it's impossible for her to not be happy about them getting married. For another, their primary motivation is that Thelonious refuses to acknowledge his son is marrying someone like Raven, so they're getting married without any involvement from either of their families, and are basically treating marriage as one big party for their friends. And Vegas is a perfect place for that.

It's also, Clarke has to admit, overwhelming and mildly terrifying.

"Don't be a wuss, Griffin," Raven says, tapping her brace with her cane. "I can't kick people anymore. As my maid of honor, that's on you."

"Is kicking really my best option?" Clarke asks. It might be; she's genuinely not sure.

"Hell if I know. You're the expert on your fighting style, not me. Head's up, it's our turn."

It's Thursday, and she and Raven are the only ones in Vegas so far. Wells is working today and coming down tomorrow, and the rest of their friends will be trickling in from now until Sunday, when they'll have the ceremony. All that's on their agenda for today is getting the wedding certificate squared away, and Clarke is already ready to start murdering people if it will get them through the process sooner. Apparently quickie weddings in Vegas still have a lot of steps, and it's disconcerting to see drunk, impulsive people waiting in line for the proper documentation. It's one thing to do it on a whim; it's another to remain inebriated through a taxi trip, a legal procedure, and a trip back to somewhere with a minister.

But hey, maybe some of them will make it. Clarke's rooting for them.

Raven and Wells filled out their paperwork in advance, so all they have to do is get it officially approved. Clarke assumed it would be a fairly straight-forward experience, but of course, it's bureaucracy, and it's bureaucracy in Vegas, so the whole thing is a mess. By the time they're done, Clarke is grumpy and Raven's leg is aching and they both just want to go back to the hotel and start day drinking. Day drinking is the true meaning of Vegas, from what she can tell.

Raven takes a seat while Clarke looks for a taxi, and that is, admittedly, her first mistake.

Clarke is rich in the sense that she knows if she ever needs money, her mother will help, but she doesn't like to ask. It's admitting she can't take care of herself, and she can. But the taxi from the strip was expensive, and Clarke's still grumpy about that, on top of everything else. Which is why she figures they can con someone.

In addition to regular, legitimate taxis, which are already basically a rip-off, there's a line of limos outside waiting to take people to sketchy chapels, so that they can immediately turn their impulse-acquired wedding licenses into precious memories for even more exorbitant fees.

But the limos take you to the chapels for _free_.

"Come on, we're going to get one of the limos."

"Why?" asks Raven, wary.

"Because they're free."

"They're free because they don't take us where we want to go."

"So we get them to take us where we want to go."

Raven considers. "So, you think you're gonna scam some Vegas limo driver, who scams people professionally? And get them to take us back to the hotel instead of to a weird chapel where they murder us because we don't want to get married."

"They're not going to murder us."

"Yeah, you're probably right. Murder's pretty extreme." She stands and stretches. "Sure, I want to see this. Let's do it. Not like we have anything planned today."

It's not exactly a ringing endorsement, but it's not a no. And it's good to have a project, right? Something to keep them occupied for the rest of the day.

The line of limos is still unbroken when Clarke and Raven get back outside, various guys jockeying for attention from the couples weighing their options. 

Her second mistake is picking the hot guy who's shaking his keys at a drunk couple, like she's seen people do with babies. It's simultaneously funny and a total dick move which is, unfortunately, Clarke's type.

Plus, again, hot.

"That one," she says, and Raven snorts.

"This is just getting better and better."

"Shut up." She hooks their arms together and gives the driver a bright smile. "Hi, we want to get married."

"Cool," he says. "I've got a place." His eyes flick down to Raven's leg, brace obvious when she's wearing shorts. "Do you need any help getting in the car or anything?"

"Nope, I'm set. Thanks."

He shrugs, unconcerned. "Great. Get in."

A picture of his license is hanging over the partition, which is more than Clarke expected. His picture looks like a mug shot no one warned him they were taking, and his name (or alias) is Bellamy Blake. He's three years older than Clarke, and he's a Taurus.

He's also not particularly talkative, so once they're moving, Clarke figures it's showtime.

"We're so excited," she tells him.

If his voice has intonations, he's not using them. Everything is flat and uninterested. "Congrats. Very happy for you."

"Thanks." She reaches over to squeeze Raven's hand; Raven just raises her eyebrows. "It's just a shame our parents can't be here."

It's supposed to be a conversation starter, but Bellamy Blake isn't biting. "Yeah," is all he says, and Raven gives Clarke a look.

"I really think your mom's going to come around," she goes on.

"Maybe when hell freezes over," Raven says. She might not know where Clarke is going with this, but she's always happy to talk shit about her mom.

"I think when my mom heard bisexual, she heard _will probably still marry a guy_ ," Clarke tells Bellamy. "Which is an improvement on Raven's mom, who heard _likes girls and should be disowned_."

"Well, fuck her," says Bellamy. His voice is as mild as ever, but the sentiment sounds genuine. "And fuck your mom too." Apparently he realizes this might be a controversial statement, because he adds, "No offense."

"None taken," Clarke says, honest. "She's kind of right, it's easier for me to find guys to date. Just in terms of numbers. But then they're dicks about bisexuality, so--"

"So you're marrying another bi girl," he says. "Sounds good to me."

The reminder of her actual goal here is appreciated. It's way too easy to get carried away complaining about her dating history. "Yeah, but--what if they come? Maybe we're being too impulsive, babe."

As tactics go, it's probably not the best one, but she's got backup plans, if this doesn't work. She's gathering intel.

"We don't care if they're here," Raven says, giving her a confused look. "Do we?"

"No, but--we did _invite_ your dad."

"I doubt he'll be able to make it," Raven says, on a heavy sigh. He died when she was four, so it does seem pretty unlikely. But nothing is _impossible_ , right? "It would be great if he did, though."

"But he won't care about the ceremony, will he?"

Raven snorts. "Yeah, obviously. Who comes to a wedding because they want to be at the ceremony?" She squeezes Clarke's hand. "Don't feel bad. He's probably not coming."

"I just--I don't like betting on your dad skipping our wedding." She worries her lip. "We don't even have a witness," she tells Bellamy.

"We have one," he says.

"Just on retainer?"

"My best friend's boyfriend," he explains. "He does computer stuff, so he's always around."

Clarke sighs. "I just don't know. This felt like such a good idea, but--"

"Getting married because you're angry at your mom is backfiring on you?" Raven asks. "No way."

"I also love you."

"Yeah, but still. We could at least get some more friends here. I could call my dad, instead of just emailing."

" _Dear Dad, Getting Vegas married, love you_."

"That's basically what I sent him."

Clarke sighs, too loud and too long. "Maybe this was a mistake. Not you!" she adds, quickly. The last thing she wants to do is come across like she doesn't want to marry Raven. Perhaps irrationally. Maybe later she can turn the defensiveness into some early warning sign about her not being ready to get married. If Bellamy drives a hard bargain with driving them back to their hotel. "But--maybe we're doing this wrong. Maybe we should wait."

Raven's sigh is full of genuine pathos; she has a knack for this. "You seemed so sure."

"We both should be sure."

"Hey, don't make this about me. You know I'm ready to get married, babe."

"That's not what I meant. It doesn't have to be like this." She wets her lips, leans forward to talk to Bellamy. "Hey, I'm really sorry, but could you maybe take us back to the strip? I don't think we're ready for this."

"Nope," he says. "I can take you to the chapel or let you off at the side of the road. I'd recommend the chapel. You don't really want to be on the side of the road."

Raven squeezes her hand in a pointed way that says, _I told you so_. Maybe they should get married. They've got the nonverbal communication down.

"It's not far, is it?" Clarke asks. "I'm so sorry, I just--"

"You can get married or you can get a cab," he says. "Your call. Both are valid options. I don't really think the side of the road is valid, but I'm not your dad. We're about ten minutes from the chapel, so let me know if you see somewhere you want me to let you off before that."

"I know it's a pain, but--isn't there any way you could--"

"How much?" asks Bellamy.

"What?"

"You want me to take you back to the strip, make me an offer. I'm not here because I care so much about the beauty and romance of drunk people vomiting in the back seat of my car before they get married. I'm getting paid. You want a ride off my route, make me an offer. Or get married, and I'll drive you back for free."

"For free," Clarke says, flat.

His expression changes for the first time Clarke's seen, an actual smirk. It does annoyingly good things for his face. "If you pay me for a wedding, I'll comp you the ride. All part of the service."

"How generous."

"Sorry, did you think I was running a charity here?"

It's a valid point; this is Bellamy's job. He has no real reason to care about her and Raven's relationship. If they want to get married, he'll do it. If they don't want to get married, he has other concerns in his life.

This might not have been a great plan.

"What do you think?" she asks Raven. "Married or wait?"

"Does it matter? He's right, I'm not interested in the side of the road. If you get out, you're on your own."

Clarke crosses her arms and sinks into the seat, stewing and planning her next move. Bellamy meets her eye in the rear view mirror, smirks again. "If it helps," he offers, "I think you guys really have a shot at making it."

*

Bellamy honestly doesn't know why anyone thinks they can con him out of a ride. Not that many people actually try; most people actually _are_ looking for a place to get married, any place, and they're happy to let him do it. Some of them do sober up and realize they're making bad impulse decisions, which is always kind of a mixed blessing for him. He doesn't get any particular joy from performing weddings he's sure people will regret, but it's not like it's his idea. And some people _do_ just want to get married quickly and efficiently. He and Miller have a pretty good thing going with that; it doesn't take long, they make a decent profit, and it's flexible enough that he can maintain other shitty jobs going alongside it, while working less at them. It makes him feel vaguely slimy, but the entire Vegas casino industry makes him feel vaguely slimy, so what else is new? This part of it is at least putting his sister through college.

He'd bet money that these two girls have no intention of getting married at all, but it's not like he really cares. The blonde clearly thought she could play him, but he's pretty sure ten minutes in the chapel will fix that mistaken assumption and she and her friend/girlfriend will return to whichever overpriced tourist hotel they're staying at and leave him alone.

Not to brag, but his and Miller's chapel is kind of a terrifying, astroturfed nightmare den. And it's still less terrifying than a bunch of the other chapel options. And everyone here is an adult capable of making their own choices, starting with getting in his car to being with.

So he really shouldn't be feeling guilty. The blonde is _trying_ to get a free ride out of him. It's not something to feel bad about. She started it.

"So, you guys want to get hitched?" he asks, once they get to Nathan Miller's Magical Marriage Ministry. 

There's something wrong with Miller, honestly.

"I've got packages inside," he goes on. "Different options."

"Yeah, I bet you've got packages," the brunette mutters. "Do you do Elvis? Other impressions?"

"You want Miller for impressions. I think he's not here. Monty!"

Monty sticks his head out of the back room. "Hey. Mazel tov, guys. What can we help you with? Do you want precious memories? We can make precious memories."

"Is Miller here?" Bellamy asks.

"Nope, he left ten minutes ago."

"Yeah, if you guys want an Elvis wedding, you have to wait for him. I tend to be less dramatic."

"You don't say," mutters the blonde.

Monty claps him on the shoulder. "Bellamy's great. He doesn't act like it, but he does really moving wedding speeches. He really believes in the power of love."

The blonde's eyebrows shoot up, and he tries not to blush. "So, you guys want to see packages, or you want Monty to call you a cab?"

"We might as well take a look, right?" asks the blonde. "Maybe the Elvis package is awesome."

"You're deranged," says the brunette. "Are you playing Smash Brothers?" she adds, to Monty. "I recognize that music."

"Yeah."

"Do you have another controller?"

Monty brightens, which isn't surprising. He has an actual real job, testing vulnerabilities for various corporate websites, but he always enjoys seeing people and making weird Vegas memories. It's why he's such a good witness for weddings; he's really enthusiastic in a lot of pictures of couples he never met before.

But he would almost always rather be playing video games.

"I do!" he says, and the brunette grins and pats the blonde on the shoulder. 

"Let me know if you find any great marriage options. I'm flexible."

Bellamy crosses his arms as the blonde comes back. She's a good five inches shorter than he is, but fierce enough that she feels taller. 

Stupidly, he kind of hopes she's single. Not that he's ever going to see her again, but--he always sort of hopes girls who are his type are single.

"You've got ten minutes if you want me to perform your ceremony," he tells her.

"Ten minutes?"

"This may shock you, but shotgun wedding chapels in Vegas don't really thrive because we wait around for people making up their minds about getting married. Do it, don't do it, I don't care. But if I'm trying to talk you through your relationship issues, I'm not making any money." He hands her one of the laminated sheets with their different wedding package details and pricing printed on it. "So, yeah. If you want me, I can give you ten minutes to make up your mind before I go back to find someone else. Miller will be back to do the Elvis package for you, if you want. Otherwise, like I said, Monty will probably call you a cab, if you ask nicely."

Her eyes dart over the list. "At least you've got some good options."

"Yeah, we're a really classy establishment."

"For sure." Her eyes flick up to meet his. "I'd get the Elvis package if you were doing it."

"You're just saying that because you haven't met Miller yet. He's a way better performer than I am."

"Uh huh." She worries her lip. "I don't think we're getting married today."

"I got that impression, yeah. Like I said, Monty will call you a cab, so--"

"Well, we want to see your friend's Elvis impression," she says. "Maybe if it's good enough, we'll change our minds."

He's pretty sure that's her way of saying she's going to try to talk Miller into giving her a free ride, which is fine. Miller can take care of himself. If she persuades him, she's earned a trip back to her hotel.

"Knock yourself out," he says. "I've got a new fare to find."

It doesn't take him long; there's a cute, tipsy couple giggling on the curb, and when he offers, they cheerfully pile into the back seat. Their names are, apparently, Judy and Nick, and they really didn't want to deal with a _ceremony_ , and Nick apparently likes con artists, so here they are. Bellamy's never been particularly good at this part of the job, the small talk with the happy couple, but the good news is, most of the couples don't care. All they want is a ride, a decent wedding ceremony, and someone to take them home after. If he just sort of nods and smiles, that tends to be good enough.

Miller's car is gone again when they make it back, and Bellamy finds himself a little--curious. If the girls took a cab or talked Miller into helping them or--

Or the blonde is sitting on a bench in the chapel, playing on her phone.

"What are you still doing here?" he asks.

"Helping," she says. She jumps to her feet and offers her hand to the happy couple. "Congratulations! I'm Clarke. I'm going to be your witness."

"Since when?" he asks.

"Since now. Monty and Raven are playing video games."

"Did you guys get married?"

"Not yet. But your friend's Elvis was pretty great. I talked his couple into going for that package."

"Thanks, I think."

Clarke takes Judy's arm. "Come on, let's get you ready."

Bellamy's a little poleaxed, and even more so when Clarke gets back and has talked Judy into one of their more expensive packages, and is apparently the maid of honor, or something, with the brunette, Raven, as the best man. It makes sense, as there aren't any other candidates around, but--she seems to be _helping him_ more than she's helping the bride and groom. She's definitely making him some extra cash.

It all starts coming together during the photos, when she says, "Oh, yeah, me and my friend Raven got here by accident, we're trying to get back to the strip," and of course Judy says there's plenty of room in the limo, and before Bellamy knows it, the newlyweds are inviting them along for a party at their hotel.

"Your friend?" Bellamy asks Clarke, mild, while Monty is getting a few more picures. 

Clarke shrugs. "Sorry, did you not figure out we just wanted a free ride? I did the math, I made you and your friend like a hundred bucks each. You're not going to make us hang out for a few more hours, are you?"

"You're not going to leave, are you?" he asks.

"Not unless you take us."

"So, I should probably keep you around. If you're going to keep upselling our clients."

"That only lasts so long before I turn on you and start driving them away."

He snorts. "Which hotel are you at? Why are you even here?"

"She's marrying my best friend on Sunday."

"And you're too broke to pay for your own transportation?"

She shrugs. "Taxis are expensive."

"So you're just lying to poor, innocent--"

"Guys who are scamming drunk people."

"Hey, they want to get married. They have wedding licenses. You don't get a wedding license if you aren't planning to get married. They've got to do it somewhere, right?"

She pats his shoulder. "Keep telling yourself."

It's not like he has any reason to not bring them back with the bridge and groom, especially when the bride and groom are the ones he wants to keep happy, so once they're done with all their weird celebrations and Monty has printed off wedding pictures, they pile into the limo.

Clarke, to his surprise and, okay, delight, takes shotgun.

"You know there's room in the back," he says. "I've fit four people in there before."

"That's what she said," she says, reflexive. She adds, "Raven's leg is hurting, and this way she can have more room to stretch it out." She puts her feet up, glances at him. "You don't mind, right?"

He doesn't, but he's not just going to say that. "Don't get my car dirty," he goes with instead, and starts the engine.

"So," she says, once the GPS has indicated they'll be on the same road for a while, "how do you get started doing something like this?"

He glances over at her; she's taken her feet off the dashboard and is already watching him, curious. Apparently genuinely interested. He's always a little wary about too much truth about himself, but--honestly, it's not a bad story. And it might make her feel guilty about trying to con him out of a ride. That would be fun.

"Grow up here," he says. "Work shitty odd-jobs through high school, get a scholarship to college, finally get the fuck out, and then two months in, your mom dies and you come home to raise your baby sister, which means more shitty odd-jobs, all the time."

She winces. "Shit."

"I hooked up with Miller a couple years ago, that helped. This still isn't my only job, but it's less miserable than anything else I could do full time."

"That's depressing."

He snorts. "Thanks. I appreciate your support."

"How old is your sister now?"

"Twenty. She's at the University of Nevada in Reno."

"Cool. Good for her." There's a pause, and then she says, "I'm still not paying you."

He can't help laughing. "Yeah, well. It was worth a shot."

*

Vegas is pretty much how Clarke thought it would be. At least the _Vegas_ part of Vegas is. There is, she knows, a world outside of the strip and outside of all the things that people associate with this place. There are people just living here, who have normal jobs and families, and--well, people like Bellamy, probably. People who live here and work here and would do something else, if they could.

But the strip is just like how she thought Vegas would be, loud and glitzy and vaguely unreal, everything too bright and strange. It's not _bad_ , exactly, but she feels like if she was here for more than a week, her eyes would start to hurt.

Wells arrives just after noon on Friday, when Clarke and Raven are still waking up after a somewhat surreal night of partying with the newlyweds from Bellamy's sketchy wedding chapel. Clarke and Raven are both big believers in hair of the dog, so they just keep on drinking, since they're not really doing anything else right now. It's fun, but it's also just a little bit lonely. Clarke has been single since she graduated from college, and she mostly doesn't mind. Her previous relationships were bad enough that taking a break doesn't feel like a bad call. But Wells and Raven love each other enough to get _married_ , and it's staggering, still. People she loves are ready for that kind of commitment. She's happy, just--kind of overwhelmed.

So, yeah. She's kind of drunk, happy and sad all together, watching Raven and Wells playing Magic: The Gathering at the bar because they want to play cards but don't want the casino to rip them off.

"That's the real fiance?"

Clarke jumps, turns to see--it's definitely Bellamy. It's just Bellamy dressed as a Roman gladiator, which is--she cannot possibly be hallucinating, but it feels like she is.

"What the fuck?" she manages.

"What?" he asks, leaning his elbow on the bar. "Is that not her real fiance?"

"It is. Just--what are you doing here?"

He does not look impressed. "You really can't figure it out? You're at a Roman-themed casino and I'm in costume. This is obviously my hobby and I'm just trying to blend in." He clears his throat, flushes. "Well, uh. Okay, I got a job here because I like Roman shit more than French shit, that was my last costumed job. But--yeah. I work here."

"Huh." She considers. "How much does that suck?"

He laughs; he's still hot. And the gladiator costume is working for him more than she would have expected. He has unbelievable arms. She's not convinced the story he told her was true, but she's not convinced it wasn't. He didn't seem to be trying to con her into paying him or anything. "Thanks for your compassion," he says. "It sucks a lot. But a surprising number of people stuff cash into my armor even though I'm not stripping, so that's cool."

"That's the dream, yeah," she says. "And that is Raven's fiance. My best friend, Wells."

"What are they doing?"

"Playing Magic."

"Really taking advantage of Vegas, huh?"

"I didn't really get the impression you were a fan of Vegas stuff," she remarks, and he inclines his head. "Casinos are a con, they've already got their wedding booked--"

"Is Miller doing it? Miller's great at this."

"If they hadn't already paid for something else, he probably would be. You guys really left an impression."

"Yeah?"

"I never knew astroturf was so important to weddings."

"You learn something new every day." He regards her, and she tries not to flush. She's not really looking her best, particularly, and she's kind of drunk, and he's so, so pretty. "I don't want to sound judgmental, but honestly, watching your friends play Magic at a casino might be sadder than playing Magic at a casino."

"Thanks, I hadn't noticed." 

He clears his throat. "Sorry, that came out, uh--"

"Judgmental?"

He laughs again. He has a nice laugh, and it's weird to remember how curt and unemotional he was in the limo. Not that it's a surprise, but--she likes when he relaxes. He has a nice smile. "Yeah, that would be the word. I can give you a tour, if you want?"

"Of the casino?"

His shrug is casual, but Clarke thinks he's blushing a little. "I have to get back to work. But _work_ is basically wandering around posing for pictures, so if you want to come, that's cool. I wouldn't mind having someone to talk to."

"Then, yeah. That sounds fun. I bet you have a lot of really judgmental opinions about this casino."

"You're not wrong," he says. "Come on."

As it turns out, Bellamy has _interesting_ opinions, which is even better than judgmental. Apparently he really does like Roman stuff, because a lot of his tour is just trivia about historical accuracy and accidental tangents about cool things he's read.

He probably really liked the first few months of college, and it's unexpectedly painful, thinking about it. She barely knows him.

"Anyway, yeah," he's saying, when she zones back in. "I tried to convince them I could make my costume more accurate and they weren't interested."

"Philistines," she teases.

"I was just trying to help." He wets his lips. "So, uh--what about you?"

"What about me?"

"All I know about you is that your name is Clarke and you like trying to con poor, innocent guys into giving you free rides to your hotel."

"Look, once you're scamming--"

"I'm still not scamming anyone. I'm performing weddings for couples who have gone to city hall and gotten marriage licenses. That's not a scam. Get it right. We covered this yesterday."

It's a fair point. "Fine. I'm sorry I tried to con you into giving us a ride. I was in a bad mood."

"Forgiven," he says. "Now I know you were in a bad mood yesterday. That's still not a lot."

"I'm twenty-four," she says. "I'm at Indiana University, getting my PhD in Gender Studies."

"Huh. That's cool."

"I think so. My mom thinks I'm never going to get a job."

He seems to be thinking, and then asks, "Do you need a job?"

"Everyone needs a job."

"Not true. Some people are rich enough they don't have to work. No offense, but I kind of get that vibe off you."

It's true, and not offensive so much as surprising. Clarke didn't think it was obvious just by looking at her. But maybe he sees a lot of that type, working in a place like this. "I think my mom probably wouldn't actually support me doing _nothing_. But I'm not doing great with, you know. The kind of things she thinks I'm supposed to be doing."

"Such as?"

She considers, but--it's not like he has a great opinion of her to start with. And she doubts this will ruin it for him. "She's a politician. In congress. She wanted me to go into--business or philanthropy or something. Gender studies is too liberal." Her smile is tight. "She also wanted me to have pretty different political beliefs than I do, so I'm just an overall disappointment."

He snorts. "So, the stuff about her hoping you'd just hook up with a guy was true?"

"Yeah. I actually IDed as a lesbian for a while in college, just to piss her off, but--I do like guys, so it felt like it was doing me more harm than it was doing her."

"Sounds right. So, what do you do with a PhD in gender studies?"

"Academics, I guess. I think I'd be an okay teacher. I like yelling about the patriarchy, so it seems like a good fit."

"That's cool, yeah. But you could definitely afford to just take a taxi."

"My mom could afford a taxi. I don't even want her to know I'm in Vegas. Wells' dad doesn't approve of Raven, which is why they're getting married here, and I'm hoping they don't find out about it for, like, a year. It would serve them right."

"Okay, fine. I'll take that."

"Your approval means the world to me," she says, dry. 

"I know. So, when's the wedding?"

"Sunday afternoon. I think we're supposed to just be drunk from then until now."

"Yeah, that's how it tends to work."

She worries her lip. They've been hanging out for a few hours and he's definitely friendly, but he's probably also bored, and he might just want someone to talk to while he's working.

There's no harm in asking, though.

"When are you done?"

"With what?"

"Your shift."

"Oh, uh--" He pulls out his phone to check it. "Like two hours."

"What are you doing after?"

"I don't know. Sleeping?"

"You could hang out with us. If you wanted. Unless staying here after your shift gives you hives or something. Which--I wouldn't blame you."

But he's starting to smile. "You know the alcohol is really expensive, right?"

"I guarantee by the time you're done we're going to be in someone's hotel room getting drunk on regular booze instead of paying for it. We're mostly down here waiting for more people to get in from the airport."

"How awkward is this going to be? If I come. Given I don't actually know you guys."

"I don't know. You're pretty awkward, but we'll be drunk. Wells is friends with everyone, Raven is friends with everyone when she's drunk, and you already know how to deal with me."

"I do?"

She bumps her shoulder against his. "We're having fun, right?"

"Sure, we're having fun." He rubs the back of his neck. "If you're not at the bar, how am I finding you?"

"There's this cool new thing called a _cell phone_ \--"

"So, what I'm hearing is that you want my number," he teases, and she just holds out her hand.

He gives her the phone without further protest, and she puts her number in and texts herself a message, just in case she's drunk enough by the time he gets in touch that she doesn't know who he is. "So, yeah," she says, returning the phone. "Let me know when you're done if you want to get drunk."

"Yeah," he says. "I'll keep you posted."

*

**Me** : Should I get drunk with that hot girl from yesterday?

**Miller** : Which hot girl from yesterday? Is she married?  
If she's married, don't get drunk with her.  
She's married.

**Me** : The blonde who didn't get married because she just wanted a free ride to the strip  
She was the one with the Latina who kicked Monty's ass at Smash Brothers

**Miller** : Is it a date?

**Me** : No  
Just getting drunk with her and her rich friends

**Miller** : Then fuck yes you should go.  
And bring us.  
Can we come?

Bellamy's stopping by home before he gets in touch with Clarke, mostly because she's _hot_ and asked him to hang out, and it seems possible that he might get laid at some point. Or at least get to make out, which, honestly, it's been a while. He'd be pretty happy with anything.

Okay, he likes Clarke. If all he gets out of hanging out with her tonight is hanging out with her, that would be fine too. 

**Me** : Miller and Monty want to know if they can come  
They don't have social lives either

**Clarke** : Yes!!  
Raven says they should bring video games!!  
I'm drunk so exclamation points!!  
When are you coming??  
!!!!

**Me** : Wow  
Like half an hour?

**Clarke** : Awesomeeeeeeeee  
Can't wait!!

He passes along the hotel name and room number to Miller, and then makes Miller and Monty wait in the lobby for him, because he's fucking _twelve_ , apparently, and doesn't want to go to a party alone.

It's not even a party.

"So, you got a crush on a girl who was trying to scam you," Miller remarks, casual. "That sounds about right."

"Shut up. You got a crush on Monty after he hacked our website."

"I didn't hack your website," Monty protests. "I pointed out valid security vulnerabilities in your website. You guys owe me."

"Our website didn't actually need to be secure," Bellamy points out. "We didn't even take anyone's credit card information. I still don't know how you found us."

"I like to think of myself as an internet good Samaritan. And an excellent wingman, so we're going to get you laid. Clarke's cool. Not as cool as Raven, but Raven's the engaged one, right?"

"Did they actually tell you what was going on?"

Monty rolls his eyes. "Clarke was stubbornly refusing to leave, so Raven was complaining, yeah. She's definitely perfect for you."

"She's in Indiana," he says. "So, even if she is, my best-case scenario is getting laid more than once before she goes home."

"Or she just moves into your basement because she can work from anywhere," Miller says. "Some people are into that."

"You guys are so fucking unhelpful," he mutters, and knocks on the door.

The girl who lets them in greets them with, "You must be those dudes Clarke invited! Come on in. I'm Harper, that's Raven, Wells, Monroe, Sterling, Clarke, Finn--"

"Who cares!" the girl who is apparently Monroe yells. "Clarke said they had video games!"

"We do have video games," says Monty. "Where do you want them?"

He and Miller are immediately swept up in getting the video game systems attached, which is fine, because Clarke has a drink for Bellamy, and she's grinning.

"You came!"

"I did say I was coming. Do you always use this many exclamation points when you're drunk?"

"Honestly, I was kind of stressed earlier, so now I'm aggressively not stressed. Drink this."

"Did you roofie it?" he asks, mild, but he's not actually concerned.

"Only if putting in too much rum counts as roofie-ing."

"No, that's just polite." He coughs when he takes his first sip. "Jesus, you weren't kidding."

"I never kid about rum."

His second sip is larger and more confident, and still burns a little. But it's better rum than he usually drinks, which is cool. He's all about rich, pretty girls giving him top-shelf liquor.

"You'd fit right in here. Alcohol is serious business."

"I really wouldn't. It makes my eyes hurt."

"Yeah, that happens." He takes another sip. "Why were you so stressed? Or, uh, I guess maybe you don't want to talk about it because you'll get stressed again."

She glances around, but aside from a kind of douchey-looking guy--Finn, myabe?--no one is paying attention to them. And none of them are really close enough to overhear, anyway.

"It's just weird. People I know are getting _married_."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess you're kind of young for that."

"You're three years older than I am, don't act like you're some wise elder. That's weird."

He frowns. "How do you know how old I am?"

A flush creeps up her neck, but her voice is light when she says, "You have a copy of your license in the limo. I assume it's real."

"It's real, yeah. But it's not really about how old I am. I perform like five wedding ceremonies a day. I'm pretty used to it."

She smiles. "Okay, yeah. I guess you must be. But it's not like they're your friends."

"They think they are," he grumbles, and she nudges her shoulder against his. "No, I don't have friends. That's not really a problem I can relate to."

"Uh huh. Are you good at video games?"

"Not really at all."

"So you don't mind that I'm keeping you from playing?"

He swallows hard. "Nah. I came here to hang out with you anyway."

If she thinks that's weird, she shows no indication. Her smile is wide and bright, _perfect_. He doesn't meet enough pretty, single girls. Or guys. Pretty, single people. It's a problem with performing weddings; everyone is either in a serious relationship or has terrible impulse control. Often both.

"Cool," she says. "That's why I asked you to come."

It's the kind of encouraging statement he has absolutely no response to, so he settles on, "Is that douchey kid going to fight me?" 

As conversation starters go, it's pretty weak, but the guy is _still_ watching them, and Bellamy is starting to feel kind of personally targeted. Or at least creeped out. 

Clarke rolls her eyes. "He shouldn't. He's just--stupid."

"Huh."

"No, like--he and Raven are old friends, used to date. They got engaged right out of high school, he got cold feet, slept with another girl at college, and then when Raven showed up tried to keep on dating both of them without either knowing."

"That is incredibly stupid," he grants. "But I'm not sure what it has to do with right now. Did you tear him a new one? Does he think you're going to do it again?"

"I did, yeah." She pauses. "I was the other girl he was sleeping with."

"Oh." He has to pause too. "No offense, but what are you both doing at this wedding?"

"Well, I'm Wells' best friend and one of Raven's best friends too, because that's how we dealt with that whole situation. It was that or sleeping together, and she's actually straight. So--yeah. That's what I'm doing here. And Finn and Raven are old friends too, and she forgave him, so he's here. It's kind of awkward, but--it's her call, you know? It's her wedding."

"So, you invited me to scare him off?"

" _No_ ," she says. Her insistence is kind of adorable. "Of course not. I invited you because you're fun."

"Fun?" He can't keep the amusement out of his voice. "Yeah, uh, most people don't think I'm _fun_."

"Maybe not fun. But--my kind of fun."

"Oh, yeah. That makes sense."

"What does that mean?"

He grins. "You're not fun either."

"Shut up and drink your rum, Bellamy."

It's good advice, honestly, because he feels a lot more relaxed once he's a little tipsy. He's not really a big drinker, but it's a good way to get his brain to calm down a little. He overthinks things and he knows it; when he's drunk, it's easier to just go with the flow.

And it's a nice flow. Clarke is smart and enthusiastic about her dissertation, so he gets to hear about that, and the friends of hers who drift over to talk when they're not playing video games seem cool. Once he gets over feeling like he doesn't know how to talk to them, because they're all well-off, college-educated people with full-time salaried jobs, and he's a poor kid from Vegas who dresses up in costumes for tips. 

But he reads a lot, and he knows he's smart, and Clarke, honestly, makes it easy. She asks him to tell Monroe what he told her about the restoration of color in classical statues, and he _does_ know a lot about that, and everyone else stops what they're doing to listen, so they must be enjoying it. 

It's not his world, but he could stop by for a little while. 

Still, it's only been an hour and a half or so when Clarke leans in close and says, "Hey, do you want to walk me back to my room?"

He shivers. "How far is it?"

"About two doors."

"Yeah, sounds like you need an escort."

"I was thinking so, yeah."

He catches Miller's attention enough to wave, pointedly doesn't look at the douchey kid who's been glaring at them all night, and follows Clarke out of the hotel room and down the hall a few doors, to 706. Tonight is his first time actually being in any of the rooms in any of the hotels on the strip, and it's easier for him to actually see this one, since it's empty and relatively clean. The bed is made and he has no idea if he's actually going to be in it, but he thinks his odds aren't bad.

"That wasn't too awkward, right?" Clarke asks.

"Just the right amount of awkward." He worries his lip. "How drunk are you?"

"Not that drunk. If you're worried about my ability to consent, I have bad news."

"What's the bad news?"

She flushes a little, ducking her head. "I'm sober enough to know that I probably shouldn't have sex tonight. But, um--if you wanted to stay and fool around, I'd really be into that."

"Do I get to kiss you?" he asks.

"Please."

"Awesome." He cups her face in his hands and does just that, heart speeding up as she responds instantly, hot and eager as her own hands trail up his sides and she kisses back. It has been a while, and he's missed this, the warmth of another person, the give and take of mouths moving against each other, the perfect way she melts into him.

"Bed," she murmurs, between kisses. "You should stay."

"Sure," he agrees. "I have to be up pretty early, though."

"That's fine."

He tugs her to the bed and she gets his shirt off before they tumble in, fingers dancing over his abs, making him shiver again. "How do you define fooling around?"

"Groping, making out. Anything you'd do fumbling in the backseat of a car when you don't have a condom."

"You have very weird drunk standards," he teases, but it's gentle, and she smiles.

"Honestly, if I'm going to get to have sex with you, I want to be sure I'll remember absolutely everything."

It doesn't feel like the kind of sentiment that should make him blush--he likes remembering good sex too, and he's hoping the sex will be good--but it does. It feels oddly romantic. Which is definitely not a good thought to have, because she's a tourist, and she's leaving soon.

"When do you fly out?" he asks, kissing her neck.

"Monday afternoon."

Her own shirt slides off easily, and he pushes her back on the bed, settling in. "Then, yeah. I bet we can fit in some sex you're going to remember before you leave."

*

Clarke is incredibly confused by the sound of an alarm going off in the morning, mostly because it's both really early and definitely not her alarm. And then there's someone else in bed with her, which also takes her a minute. 

She feels the press of lips in her hair, and then it comes to her: Bellamy. She brought Bellamy back to her hotel with her, made out with him, might have gotten off once or twice, and fell asleep tangled in his arms.

"Work?" she asks. "What time is it?"

"Really way too fucking early," he says. He slides out of bed, and Clarke watches without shame as he pulls his clothes back on. He's _really_ hot. She's so glad she was drunk enough to ask him to hang out with her. And make out. "Seven. I need to go home and shower and change before work." He pauses, but then he crosses back, leans down to kiss her again, soft and sweet. "I'll be done around ten. I don't know what you're supposed to be doing tonight, but you have my number, so let me know if you want to--yeah."

"I think everyone will support me in ditching them to make out with a hot Vegas guy," she says. "I'll give you a call."

His smile is surprisingly sweet, and Clarke's heart twists. She really likes him; she hadn't expected to really like him. She just thought he was cute.

She pulls him down for another kiss so she won't think about it. "Have fun at work."

"That's always the goal, yeah." His mouth twitches into a wryer smile. "Try not to drink too much or lose all your money in slot machines."

And then he's gone.

Clarke flops back in the bed, closing her eyes. The smell of him lingers on the other pillow, and the bed feels larger and colder, now that she's alone. This is really the problem with vacation romances; she's got all this free time, and he's got all these jobs. Which sucks way more for him than it does for her, obviously. But she's pretty sure he also wishes he could have just stayed in bed with her all morning.

She does manage to go back to sleep, which is nice, and the next time she wakes up it's a much more respectable nine-thirty, and her phone is ringing.

"What," she says, flat, when she sees it's Raven.

"Wow, that is really not the upbeat _I just got laid_ Clarke I was expecting."

"How are you so awake? I hate you."

"I deserve that," she says, cheerful. "Seriously, are you and hot minister guy coming to breakfast? You guys need to keep up your strength."

"He's already gone," she says, sighing and dragging herself up to find her own clothes. "He has a job."

"Sucks to be you," Raven says, without much by way of remorse. "You coming to breakfast?"

"Yeah. Give me twenty minutes."

She showers quickly and meets the rest of the group in the lobby. She puts up with everyone ribbing her about taking Bellamy home (so to speak), and doesn't bother denying it, because it's not like _he didn't actually put his dick in me_ is a particularly interesting or meaningful distinction. He came back to her hotel with him, and if she'd had just a little less to drink, she would have fucked him as many times as he could get it up.

She'll take the teasing.

Once breakfast is done, they decide to do _Vegas stuff_ , which is just about as bad as Clarke expected it would be. She starts snapchatting weird things she sees to Anya, from her grad program, and then she can't help saving one of the better pictures and sending it to Bellamy because, yeah, that's basically where she's at with her life right now. She wants to talk to the cute boy she likes, like, all the time. 

**Bellamy** : Awesome  
New first for me: couple got married in cosplay  
Which is dressed up as fictional characters, in case you don't know what that means  
But you're friends with Raven, so I assume you do

**Me** : I'm familiar with cosplay, yeah  
What were they cosplaying?  
Related, wow, autocorrect does not like cosplay

**Bellamy** : That's your fault  
You're the one who isn't teaching it important vocabulary  
Captain America and Bucky Barnes

**Me** : Was it two guys or was someone crossplaying?  
Is crossplay new vocabulary for you? It's cosplaying a different gednder  
I'm educating you and my autocorrect

**Bellamy** : Two girls  
Double crossplay  
Which is new vocabulary for me, thanks

**Me** : [thumbs up emoji]  
I hope they make it  
Do you know much about that?

**Bellamy** : What, divorce rates for couples I personally marry?  
No  
Weirdly, they don't tend to tell me if it doesn't work out

**Me** : I guess they wouldn't, yeah  
Are you at the chapel all day?

**Bellamy** : Until five  
And then I'm just working a fancy dinner for a few hours  
Giving out cocktails, pretending I don't notice when rich old ladies grab my ass  
The usual  
What about you?

**Me** : I'm on vacation, I have literally nothing to do  
Which is why you're getting weird Vegas pictures  
Also aren't you driving? Don't text and drive, just text me later

**Bellamy** : Lunch break  
Don't worry, I'm not putting my life on the line to talk to you  
But I'm about to get back in the car  
You can keep texting, I'll just be less prompt about responding  
Try not to miss me too much

**Me** : Drive safe!  
Here's a weird statue for you whenever you get the chance

And that's how the afternoon goes. Bellamy texts periodically with updates on couples he's met and weird things they want him to do during their wedding ceremonies, and Clarke responds with pictures of art, street performers, and anything else she thinks he'll like. Her friends are definitely making fun of her, but _she's_ the one who's probably getting laid tonight, so she can't blame them for being jealous. She'd be jealous too, if she was them.

They don't have any particular plans for the night, and Clarke is pretty aware that Bellamy has been working for at least fourteen hours, so he's probably exhausted and done with his life. That's how Clarke usually feels after a long day. She texts him at 9:30 asking if he wants anything, food or alcohol, or if he wants her to come home with him instead of him having to come to the hotel.

In retrospect, it's a little ridiculous, but when he responds fifteen minutes later, he just says, _I never get to sleep in fancy hotel beds. I'll be there in about an hour_.

Raven sits down next to her, looking serious and a little worried.

"What?" Clarke asks, instantly on guard.

"What's up with you and that guy?"

"I'm hoping to get laid tonight. I thought you approved."

"I like you getting laid. I'm a little worried about you texting all day and smiling every time you see he's responded. I'd be really happy for you, if you weren't leaving on Monday."

It's nothing Clarke hasn't been thinking. Not that there's anything wrong with casual sex, but--she'd much rather have a relationship with Bellamy. All other things being equal. And long distance is a thing, of course, but she doesn't know how to start long distance with someone she barely knows. And even thinking about it feels like getting ahead of herself, because this isn't _anything_ , really. And it feels so unlikely, that it could turn into something worth preserving in the next--two nights.

Just because she likes him doesn't mean it's _real_. 

"Maybe I'm making a friend," she tells Raven. "A hot friend who's going to fuck me. That's not a problem. And if I get attached--maybe we can keep talking. Because, you know. _Friends_."

"Uh huh. I'm just--don't let him hurt you, okay?"

If Clarke could actually stop people from hurting her, she would do it without hesitation. She would _love_ to make sure she didn't get hurt. She wishes she had control over whether or not Bellamy hurt her. She wishes she wasn't, already, just a little too attached.

She leans her head on Raven's shoulder. "I'll be fine."

"You will. Sorry, I'm not trying to bum you out. You know I'm all for you hooking up with hot guys who don't take shit. But--"

But Clarke introduced Raven to Wells after the Finn thing happened, and they're getting married, and Clarke's relationships following the Finn thing have been disasters. Raven's protective, but Clarke doesn't really think she needs protecting. Not from this.

"I know. Thanks."

Bellamy seems a little nervous when he shows up, eyes darting between Clarke and the bed and a chair, like he's not sure what to do, and it's enough to make her stop thinking about what Raven said and what she wants out of this. He's cute, she likes him, and she wants to make him feel better. So she winds her arms around his neck, leans up to press her mouth against his, feels him smile in the second before the kiss. He relaxes into her, kisses back, and it's just as good as it was last night, but sharper, clearer when she's sober. He makes a low noise as she doesn't pull away, drops his hands to her hips and holds on.

"Sorry," she murmurs, once it's absolutely and completely clear he doesn't mind. "I probably should have said hi first."

He laughs, rests his forehead against hers. "Yeah, no. That was fine. Hey."

"Hey. How was work?"

"Boring. How was Vegas?"

"Also surprisingly boring."

"Yeah, I bet. It doesn't really seem like your thing." He kisses her again. "I'm getting the impression you want to get laid."

"We can just hang out if you want. I don't have to get laid."

His laugh is soft, and his mouth is warm. "Yeah, that's not what I've been thinking about all day."

"All day?"

"Not a lot of cute tourists try to take me home."

"Because all the cute tourists you meet are getting married."

"Yeah," he agrees. "But still."

"So, you want to get laid."

"I really fucking want to get laid, yeah. When's the wedding tomorrow?"

"Not until afternoon."

He slides his arm under her ass, actually lifts her and carries her to the bed. "Awesome. So we can sleep in."

*

"Look," says Miller. "I don't want to tell you how to live your life, but I've seen a lot of movies. So I can say, as a qualified expert, that this is the fucking movie scene moment."

Bellamy isn't really in the mood to talk; he mostly wants to mope and look at his phone every ten seconds, because it's Monday, and Clarke is leaving in a few hours, and he's at work. And he doesn't even get to be upset, really, because Clarke leaving isn't about him. He barely knows her. He just--he'd really like to get to know her better.

"Does this mean you're proposing?" he asks Miller. "Monty's going to be jealous."

"I don't really care about marriage as an institution," says Monty. "If Miller wants to marry you and we have a poly thing going, I'm cool with that. But I'm pretty sure you're into that girl, so I don't think that's what he's going for."

"Yeah, seriously. You need to go to the hotel or the airport or wherever and tell the girl you're into her."

"Why?" he asks, unable to keep bitterness out of his voice. "How is that supposed to help? Am I expecting her to drop everything and move to Vegas? This is why people don't actually model their lives after movies, Miller."

"Dude," says Miller, sounding supremely unimpressed. "I'm not saying she's going to drop everything and move here with you. But I'm pretty sure you're not planning to live here forever, and she might not be planning to live wherever she is forever. It's not like your only options are uproot your life or never talk to her again."

"I still have her number," he says, as if he has any idea how to use it at this point.

"What did you say when you left this morning?"

He can't help wincing. Not that it was _bad_ , this morning. After Raven and Wells' wedding, there was a party, which he was invited to, and there was lots of drinking and dancing and fun, and then he followed Clarke back to her hotel room again for sloppy making out and some more sex, and then this morning he left bright and early, as usual, to get in to work.

He'd kissed her, told her to have a good flight, and left before she could possibly say anything else. It might have actually been bad.

"Dude," says Miller. Apparently his incompetence is written all over his face.

"I know."

"Seriously. Just go."

"I have a job, you know."

"Lose two hours of trying to convince people that you're the guy who should marry them to go talk to her before she leaves," Miller says. "Shit, what's the worst that's going to happen? She says she doesn't want to try it and you don't see her again? That's already what you think is gonna happen. Might as well make sure."

"Wow," he says. Sarcasm is his best response when Miller actually makes reasonable points. "You really should be an inspirational movie character."

"Bellamy," he says, serious. "I know it might not go anywhere. But I think you're going to regret it if you don't tell her you want it to."

He swallows hard. "Yeah. I'll--yeah. Thanks."

**Me** : You need a ride to the airport?

**Clarke** : What?

**Me** : Taxis are pretty expensive in this town  
Do you need a ride? I've got a limo. It's classy.

**Clarke** : That line works better when people haven't seen your limo  
No offense, but it's really not classy  
I know you're working, you don't have to give me a ride

**Me** : I want to  
When are you leaving?

It takes her long enough to respond that he's worried she won't, but then she says, _Can you be here in an hour?_ and there's no way he's going to be anywhere else.

She's waiting on the curb with her luggage when he drives up, glancing around, looking nervous. But her expression clears at the sight of him, and his nervousness doesn't exactly _dissolve_ , but it gets a little better. 

"Hey," he says, getting out of the car. "Are you taking shotgun, or do you want to feel really fancy in the back?"

"Shotgun," she says. "Back feels creepy."

"Stuff in the trunk?"

"I can load my own luggage, you know."

"I'm hoping you're going to tip me this time."

"Don't hold your breath." She tucks her hair behind her ear, smiles. "Thanks for coming. You really didn't have to."

"I know." He gets her suitcase and backpack into the trunk, and when he gets back she's already in shotgun. Her feet aren't on the dashboard, he can't help noticing. "I didn't want to just--" He huffs. "Miller told me I was being an idiot."

Her voice is cool. "About what?"

"This is weird, right?"

"What is?"

"I like you," he tells her, and her eyes actually widen, like she wasn't expecting it. "Not, uh--this isn't some huge, _I think we should get shotgun married_ speech. It's just--yeah. I'm going to regret it if I never talk to you again. And if that's not how you feel, that's cool. No harm, no foul. But I could get on snapchat. Increase my access to your weird posts." He rubs his face. "Jesus, this is not going well. I'm trying to do, like--romantic but not too romantic. Date me. But I'm pretty sure no speech about dating should involve snapchat, even if it's not epic romance."

Clarke starts to laugh. "Yeah, that was--something."

"Unfortunately, yeah."

"No, it was--honestly exactly what I wanted to tell you. Minus the snapchat part. It's not, like--yeah, I don't want to shotgun marry you either. But I wouldn't mind--figuring something out."

"Oh," he says, and she laughs again.

"Sorry, was I supposed to turn you down?"

"It's--a lot, right?" he asks, careful. "We've known each other for three days. It's not a lot to base a relationship off of. Especially not a long-distance one."

"No," she agrees. "But--it can just friends for now, right?"

"Friends for now?" he asks, unable to keep the wariness out of his voice. Not that there's anything wrong with being friends with her, he'd _like_ to be friends. But he's never going to be able to forget how much he wants to be kissing her.

"Yeah, you know. Just until I'm ready to come back here and have Miller marry us in his Elvis costume," she says, teasing and gentle all at once, and all the worry drains out of him.

"Well," he says. "If it's just until then."

She kisses him before she gets out of the car, fast and sweet, all warmth, and says, "I'll text you when I land, okay? Thanks again for bringing me."

"If you ever need a free ride in Vegas, you know who to call."

"I do, yeah. See you later, Bellamy."

He never quite believes it, every time they part ways. He can't help feeling like this time, when she goes, she won't come back, or he won't be able to go back to see her. It's so hard to believe that they actually make it work. Not until he finally moves in with her, and they're in the same place, and it's just one of them leaving for work or for the store. 

They still go back to Vegas so Miller can marry them. In his Elvis costume.

"I've been waiting this long, there was no way I wasn't seeing Miller do an Elvis wedding," she says on the way back to the hotel. They're not honeymooning in Vegas; they're spending one night in the same hotel Clarke stayed in for Raven's wedding so they can have a party with all their friends, and then they're going to Hawaii, because Clarke had some sort of epic argument with her mom and somehow won. Bellamy's still not sure how, but he's sure he doesn't _want_ to know how.

"He had to get his license renewed just for this," he points out. 

"But he didn't have to buy a new Elvis costume. He still had it."

"No comment." He leans in to kiss her neck. "You know, you could have just married Raven in the first place four years ago. Skipped all this and gotten right to the Elvis wedding back then."

"I do love skipping fulfilling relationships with people I love to get married to my best friend's fiancee instead," she muses. "But no. I think this was the right call."

"Oh good. I'm glad you don't regret getting Vegas-married to me. There's no way Miller was going to give us our money back."

"So I guess we have to just say married," she says, admiring the ring on her finger. "If we can't get our money back."

"Yeah," he agrees. "I guess so."


End file.
